The Ruling House
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: You were a tool, Ezio. A perfect weapon. As long as our enemies were your enemies, it was my job to make sure you stayed blind." Sylvie has never regretted any words so much in her life, but it's too late to take them back. This is the result.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except Marie and Sylvie. So don't sue me please!**

**A/N: This is going to hop about a bit, so excuse me if it gets confusing. Certain phrases will be in French and Italian, and there will be a glossary of terms at the end of each chapter. Any non-English is in _italics._ I hope you like it; all reviews are welcome, good or bad. Let me know :)**

**The Ruling House**

**Chapter One**

**Orléans, 1497**

"Ave Maria gracia plena dominus tecum benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui ihesu. Amen."

Sylvie de Valois-Orlèans crossed herself, then kissed the rosary hanging from her fingertips. It was odd; she'd never been religious before her forced retirement; faith and espionage hardly went hand in hand, after all. But now…she had very little to keep her occupied, and years of sinning to make up for. She owed God His indulgence for a lot of things.

Once she rose, the five or so other women behind her also stood. She handed the rosary to her maid, then turned to her left. Her daughter remained on her knees, her own rosary still clasped between her hands and her eyes closed in prayer. Sylvie smiled. She admired the fervour of the young sometimes. Bending, she touched Marie's shoulder.

"_Ma petite fleur._ Come. We must breakfast if you are to be ready for your schoolmaster."

Marie opened her eyes with a happy smile. "Yes, Mama. Then can we go riding this afternoon?"

"_Peut-être_."

Once Marie had kissed her mother's cheek, then gone through the chateau to her school rooms, one of the footmen knocked on the door of the duchess's rooms. "_Pardonez-moi_, Your Grace. There is a man at the gates, asking to see you. He says he is an old friend, but…" His nose wrinkled, indicating how likely he thought that. Like all of the household staff, he had no idea of his mistress's past.

Sylvie put her cup aside. "What is his name?"

"Leonardo Da Vinci, my lady."

Instantly, a grin appeared on Sylvie's face as joy filled her. Leonardo was here? This was wonderful! She hadn't seen him in so many years…not since she'd left Italy, in fact. And…why was he here? He shouldn't be. She couldn't imagine Ezio had-

She cleared her throat. "Show him up immediately."

He couldn't hide the flash of surprise that crossed his face, but he nodded, bowing. "Of course, Your Grace."

A few moments later, a very welcome and familiar figure stepped in, a beaming smile on his face. He bowed. "Your Grace."

Sylvie kept her duchess-face on, giving the servants and ladies-in-waiting a dismissive gesture. "Leave us."

It took no more than a minute before they had cleared the room, and then she moved quickly over to her old friend, embracing him and speaking in rapid Italian. "Leonardo! How are you? You look well," she added, leaning back to look at him properly. "Wealth suits you, my friend."

He smiled. "Grazie, Madonna. As it does you as well — duchess?"

"Ah. Yes," she nodded. "In title only, let me assure you." She gestured for him to sit down. "How was your journey? You look tired," she noted. "Surely you have not ridden from Firenze without pause?"

"Yes," he grimaced. "I'm afraid I have." He took a deep breath. "Wonderful as it is to see you, Sylvie, I didn't come only for a social visit. I need your help."

She frowned. "With what?" Inside France, she — or at least her husband — had influence true enough, but in Italy they had little power.

Leonardo's next words made her blood run cold. "Ezio is in trouble. At least, I think he is."

"What kind of trouble? Where?"

"Paris. Word of another Templar conspiracy, brewing in France, reached us. Ezio set off to do what he does best. You heard no rumours of it?"

Sylvie nodded. She had had word of an Assassin operating in Paris, but hadn't dared to hope that it would be him. There were other Assassins in the world after all, and why would Ezio be in France? "Why do you think he is trouble?"

"I've not had any contact with him for more than a month now, and neither has his target been killed. I am afraid he may already be dead. Before I came here I went to Paris, to see what I could find."

"And you found nothing, am I right?" she guessed.

"No," Leonardo sighed. "The few people I found who seemed to know something were too afraid to talk. And of course no one inside the guild will talk to anyone outside of it."

"That would be too easy," she agreed. They were silent for a moment while Sylvie thought hard. "My sources may be somewhat more cooperative, but travelling to Paris without a valid reason…" She grimaced in reply to his questioning look. "My husband keeps me on a rather tight rein. He knows something — too much, regrettably — of my history."

"But not of Ezio?"

"He knows I had lovers before him; he knows I probably will again. But no, he has no idea of the identities of any of them. And he doesn't know what…"

"What Ezio meant to you," Leonardo completely softly.

She smiled sadly at him; they were both well-aware that what Ezio meant to her, he meant exactly the same to Leonardo. "No." She took a deep breath, moving over to the fireplace and stoking the fire. Then she turned back to her friend, fixing him with a steely eye. "Do you truly believe his life may be in danger?"

Leonardo nodded. "Yes, my heart tells me it is so."

Sylvie nodded. "Then I will go to Paris. I'll find him, rescue him, and take him back to Italy."

"Sylvie, what if- What if he is already dead?"

"No," she said decisively. "If he was dead, they would have trumpeted his death and their victory. He is alive, and for one purpose; they want the information he has."

Leonardo blanched. "So they are torturing him?"

Sylvie nodded. The idea made her nauseous too, but she had more experience of torture in the field. It was near the top of the list of penance she owed to God. "They will be. But he is alive, Leonardo." She clasped his hand briefly. "And I will find him."

Finally he smiled. "I believe you will."

She returned his smile, but then sobered quickly. "But I need you to do something for me." She crossed to the door, speaking to one of the ladies waiting outside. "Fetch my daughter."

Lady Annette looked startled. "_Mais,_ my lady, Monsieur Dupont hates being interrupted-"

"I am equally sure he will hate his employment being terminated," Sylvie replied stonily. "Now, fetch my daughter."

The woman bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, Your Grace."

Sylvie moved back inside, seeing Leonardo's raised eyebrow. "Marie," she told him. "And it is she I need your help with. Once I leave for Paris, I won't be able to come back here. I will not leave my daughter here alone."

"Will she not have her father?"

Sylvie forced out a bitter laugh. "Leave her to the tender mercies of my husband? Not for a guaranteed place in Heaven, Leonardo. And this is where I must beg you for your help."

"Anything, you know that."

"I need you to take Marie back to Italy with you. Once I have Ezio, we'll come to Firenze and I'll take her off your hands. But I need to know she will be safe."

Her friend looked startled. "Well, of course, but I do not understand why the duke would wish her harm!"

Sylvie sighed, relief flooding her. "Thank you. And as for the duke…you will understand when you meet Marie."

Sure enough, the door opened, and Marie came inside. Sylvie beckoned her forward. "Come here, Marie. There is someone I wish you to meet."

The little girl moved forward, bobbing a curtsey to Leonardo. "My lord."

"You need not be so formal, _piccina._ I am extremely pleased to meet you."

She looked up, beaming — and as Sylvie has predicted, eager to show off her linguistic skills. "_Grazie molto_."

Leonardo had more sense than to freeze and stare in shock at the little girl before him, but Sylvie also saw his blue eyes widen for the briefest moment when they met Marie's. They were a deep, dark brown. Bottomless in their depth. And familiar to both of them.

Leonardo's gaze flicked to Sylvie's. She nodded once, then spoke to her daughter. "Marie, come here. I need you to listen to you very carefully, do you understand? What I will say to you is very important."

Marie nodded. "I understand, _Maman._"

"Good. Now, tomorrow, we will both leave Orlèans. And I am sorry, _chérie_, but neither of us will be coming back."

Marie brightened. "Like an adventure?"

"No," Sylvie said firmly. "This is not an adventure. One of my friends is in trouble, in Paris."

Marie's jaw dropped. "In _Paris_? Are we going to court, _Maman_?"

"No. You are going with Leonardo, to Italy. You will be safe there. I am going to Paris alone, to rescue my friend. And once he is safe, I will come to you, and we'll be reunited. Until then, you do whatever Leonardo asks of you. You will be obedient and calm under all circumstances, do you understand me?"

Marie nodded, casting a doubtful look at Leonardo. It was clear she did not think too much of him — Sylvie had tried to impress upon her daughter that she must not set too much store by rank, but she had been brought up as French royalty, after all. "I understand, _Maman_. But what about my tutors?"

Sylvie smiled, genuinely for the first time since her daughter's entrance. "You will never find another genius such as Leonardo anywhere in the world, _chérie_, I promise you that."

Marie gave Leonardo another look. "Are you a scientist, monsieur?"

"I am. And an artist. And I have been known to invent things, on occasion."

"Really? Like what?"

"Well, most recently I have been working on a flying machine."

And that was it, Marie was captivated. Sylvie smiled as her daughter burst into excited and rapid conversation; a mixture of French and broken Italian. She would be safe now.

Which was more than Sylvie could say for her father…

* * *

**Glossary:**

Ma petite fleur — My little flower

Peut-être — Maybe/Perhaps

Pardonez-moi — Excuse me

Mais — But

Piccina — Little one

Grazie molto — Thank you very much

Maman — Mommy/Mama

Chérie — Dear

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews!**

**Chapter Two**

**Firenze, 1476**

"Ave Maria gracia plena dominus tecum benedicta tu in mulieribus et benedictus fructus ventris tui ihesu. Amen."

Still kneeling, the woman before the altar crossed herself, kissed the rosary hanging from her fingers. Then she stood, putting the chain of beads away carefully in a pouch concealed in her skirts. Right next to the vial of poison.

She stood and headed toward the doors of the chapel, just as her 'master' came in. "Apologies, my lord," she murmured, standing aside to let him pass.

She felt his gaze rake over her body despite being in the house of God. He stopped in front of her. She kept her eyes lowered demurely, knowing he would not ask her to look up. Her chin would impede the view of her breasts, after all. "Not at all, _signorina_. I encourage piety in all my household staff."

"Please do not allow me to keep you from your own devotion, _Ser _Alberti," she said quietly.

It was a veiled insult, and while Uberto was clever and devious, he did not think the same of her. Deciding she could not have meant anything more than her words, he grunted dismissively. "I will have my meal late this evening I think. Inform the cook."

"Yes, _maestro_."

She dipped a curtsey to him, then left the chapel. She hadn't yet had the orders to slip the poison into Alberti's supper, though she expected they would arrive soon. All she needed was the evidence that he was a Templar, and then she could strike.

Typically, Cook's reaction to hearing that the master did not require his supper until much later was great anger; equally typical was the immediate taking it out on whomever happened to be closest. In this case, Sylvie was heartily glad she was not the kitchen boy. Feeling somewhat guilty, Sylvie made up for it by ensuring he took home some venison she had liberated from the larder's meat-store. No one would miss it, not with Uberto's money.

About an hour later, Alberti did want his dinner, and Sylvie took it through from the kitchen to the dining room. If she did this tomorrow, she could very well be serving Uberto his last meal. She placed the plate in front of him and then backed off to an unobtrusive corner, ready in case he wanted anything else. He'd only been eating a few minutes when there was a knock at the door, and a male servant entered.

He bowed, then held up a folded envelope of parchment. "An urgent message for you, _signore_."

Uberto beckoned, and took the message. He tore it open with little delicacy — but as he did so, his entire demeanour shifted. His shoulders hunched, his head went down and he glances furtively over both his shoulders before reading on. Finally he scrunched the parchment into a tight ball, then held it out. "Burn this," he grunted.

Sylvie took it, nodding, and then moved over to the fire. With her back to him, it was a simple task to swap the parchment in her hand with the blank sheet she kept in her bodice for this exact purpose. It was in this manner she'd managed to intercept several letters Uberto thought he had had destroyed. She threw the empty parchment on the fire, and the flames did their job quickly.

"Is there anything else, _signore_?"

He looked at her again for a long moment, before finally shaking his head. "No. Leave me."

She bobbed a curtsey and then left for the room she shared with another servant. Uberto hadn't called her to his bed yet; he would soon. But tonight, whatever news he'd received had meant his fear had temporarily overridden his lust.

No one would notice her gone for perhaps half an hour. She never kept the documents she had stolen inside the chambers. It was too risky; Alberti trusted no one, and though she wasn't sure, she suspected he also searched the rooms of the servants. She would burn it after she'd read it. Her superiors trusted the information she passed onto them; evidential proof was unnecessary.

She climbed up onto the roof from a ledge outside her tiny room. Once sat on the terracotta, she used the full moon to read. The roof tiles were still sun-warmed, and in high summer it was far more pleasant to be outside than it was in. Pulling the letter out of her gown, she held the wax seal together for a moment. The cross combined with the dove of peace. It was not a seal she recognised; one of the noble families, but not one used in Firenze. Or anywhere in the Republic, for that matter. Sylvie made a mental note to research it later, and focused on the contents of the letter. It was short, only a few lines, and coded. Thankfully it was a simple alpha-numeric cipher; her code-breaking skills were hardly expert, but they were better than having none at all.

_Alberti,_

_We are now on schedule for the new dawn in the North. Milano is almost ours — all that remains is to remove Sfoza. We have recruited Lampugnani to our cause. Keep Medici and Auditore blind to the truth._

_May the Father of Understanding guide you._

There was no name or signature at the bottom of the letter, which was frustrating, but aside from that, the letter was very informative. And most importantly, it had effectively ended her mission in Uberto's household. She now knew he was a Templar. What to do about it would not be her decision. And he was deep in — the Duke of Milan was about to be assassinated; Alberti may not be directly involved, but he was involved in covering it up to Sfoza's closest ally — the Medici. And Auditore, though that made little sense. The Auditore family were also allies of the Medici; a not fabulously wealthy, but by no means poor, banking family. Sylvie knew little about them beyond that. But this letter seemed to indicate them being of some kind of threat to the Templars.

Biting her lip, she frowned in thought, looking out over the city. She needed to investigate it further.

Standing, Sylvie moved over to the chimney stacks. She'd made sure that only two out of the three worked; in the third she kept her private — and incriminating — items. These included a roll of parchment, a small ink well and a quill; it wasn't usual that women of her supposed class were literate after all. Tearing a small strip of parchment, she wrote her message in as few words as possible. Checked the time from the clock tower a few buildings away. She had twenty minutes. The pigeon coop was fifteen minutes away, running over the densely-packed rooftops. She would have to push.

In normal garb, it would be completely impossible to make it without her skirts getting in the way. However, her apron concealed a split in her skirt, under which she wore leggings. Her leather belt was wide enough to tuck the skirt up securely. It was not dignified, but it was functional.

Sylvie ran as fast as she was able, resulting in more than a few close calls where she almost lost her balance. Never mind, she thought. Things such as near-death experiences made life fun. She made it barely, tying the small message around the leg of the carrier pigeon, and releasing it into the night. She watched the silver in its wings catch the moonlight, and wondered how soon she would receive her next orders.

The bells chiming across Firenze woke her from her musings. Ten minutes. "_Merde_!"

She sprinted back to Alberti's house — having the unsettling feeling she was being watched.

The next evening brought no news from her commanders, nor the next. Sylvie couldn't help feeling somewhat anxious. If the powers-that-be in France demanded that Sfoza die, then it was nothing to her, but not knowing if there was something she should be doing to save a man's life…

On the third day, and needing to escape the increasingly-stuffy atmosphere inside the house, Sylvie offered to go to the market to buy the fresh fruit and vegetables for the day. She was in the market for no more than ten minutes before someone began following her. Both her training and innate senses alerted her quickly; it was easy to lead him down a side-alley; easier to jump out when he followed and hold a dagger to his throat.

"Why are you following me?" she hissed.

In answer, he held up a trembling hand. It was holding an envelope, held together with a purple wax seal. It was embossed with the crest of a crown and angels. The crest of the house of Valois. She took it, removed the dagger from the man's throat quickly, and without an apology. She planted her palms firmly on his back and shoved him back out into the sunshine. She climbed until she found a place of solitude, and then opened the package.

Like Uberto's letter, hers was brief, containing only a where and a when.

_Catacombes, deux avant midi._

It was not until she let out a sigh of relief that Sylvie realised how worried she'd been. Normally it was not a problem she suffered from; naturally there were periods in a spy's life where she would be without orders. But things in Italy were changing. In Firenze it went deep, but this plot against the Duke of Milan was a symptom of a disease that had spread far more voraciously than anyone had feared. And Sylvie hated standing on shifting sand.

She was grateful, therefore, to be slipping from Alberti's house in the dead of night. The nearest entrance to the catacombs was not far; there were more guards patrolling the city then, but it was not difficult to modify her dress to match that of the courtesans still sashaying around.

As she entered the underground network of tunnels, the squeaking of rats were her greeting. Rat did not bother her. Spiders, on the other hand…

"You are early, _Mademoiselle_."

She bowed, smiling. It was such a relief to speak French again. "_Pardon, monsieur. _I thought you would prefer it over being late."

"_En effet. _To business."

She nodded, and followed her overseer to a hidden chamber. It was well-lit, furnished with a table, chairs, bookshelves and a cot. A safe-house for Sylvie and others like her. He beckoned her over to the table, where an array of documents lay.

"The Auditore."

"Yes," she replied. "Who are they really?"

"Assassins," he replied. "They have been for centuries. It has been well-hidden, but it is not impossible to discover. Giovanni is the current one."

She nodded, taking the portrait he handed to her, along with a copy of the Auditore family tree. A very Italian face, with something of the Assassin hidden in his dark brown eyes. "Does he know about the assassination attempt on the Duke?"

"The assassination took place at evening mass two days ago," he said smoothly.

Sylvie looked up, startled. "And we allowed it?"

"We were unable to prevent it. One of our men killed the assassin responsible."

"During interrogation?" she assumed.

"No. He was a bodyguard of the Duke, and developed too close a personal attachment to the situation. He has been dealt with."

"I'm sure. What are my orders, _monsieur_?"

"Giovanni Auditore is now en route to Rome, in an attempt to stop the Templars' next move."

"Will he succeed?"

"This is like a _pomme de terre_," he told her. "Cut off one shoot, and it will only grow a new one."

"So no."

"Keep watch on the Auditore house. Alberti will meet with Giovanni and Lorenzo Medici when he returns. And when he returns, make contact. Warn him of Uberto's true loyalties."

She nodded. "Will he believe me?"

He made a careless gesture. "All you need do is make sure he is warned. If the Templar conspiracy succeeds, we will make sure you escape Florence safely."

"If it succeeds I imagine there will be no safety to be found anywhere in Italy."

"If it succeeds, then both Giovanni and Lorenzo de Medici will be dead. In which case you must contact the next Assassin. Keep him following the path of France."

"He will want to follow the path of vengeance."

"It is your job to make sure that the two coincide often," he ordered her firmly.

Sylvie nodded. "_D'accord._ So which of his sons is the next Assassin? Or is it the girl?"

"We believe it is the middle son," he replied, sliding a portrait across to her. "Ezio. Though it is possible that the elder also is a candidate, we are almost certain it is Ezio. We've observed him and traced the heritage lines back, looked at the patterns — he has inherited those skills, even if he has not become aware of it yet."

Sylvie picked up the portrait, nodding appreciatively. "He is certainly a handsome man."

"Then I trust being his handler will not be any problem for you?"

"_Non_," she replied. "How much 'handling' will be required? I cannot foresee there being any…lines I would be unwilling to cross."

"Do not make him suspicious," he pressed. "If you show too keen an interest-"

"I am skilled at my job, with due respect," she interrupted. "And it would not make him suspicious." She indicated the portrait. "He knows he is a fine-looking man. Believe me, in_ Firenze _he would not be unaccustomed to female attention."

"Still. Maintain as much a distance as you can. It would be _malheureux_, to lose my best operative should you wish to avenge_ his_ sudden death."

Sylvie smirked. "_Oui._ I will keep my distance."

"Good. If there is any more information you should know, we will pass it to you in the usual manner."

"Very well. Thank you, monsieur."

"_Prends garde._"

She bowed and left the way she had come.

From the way Alberti behaved in the next three days, she knew that Giovanni Auditore had failed in Rome. Frustratingly — but unsurprisingly — she had been unable to track down the Assassin in that time. Finally she resorted to losing sleep completely, and sitting on the roof of the Auditore home all night. It was a blunt tactic, but it had the desired outcome. Just before dawn, Giovanni Auditore landed, cat-like, in front of her.

Sylvie stood slowly, so that he wouldn't mistake her intent. "You move silently."

"It is my job. Who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Sylvie. I am a spy."

"A spy who is so free with her secrets?"

"I've told you nothing of my secrets," she replied. "And that is not what I came here to do. I came here to warn you."

"Of?"

"Uberto Alberti. He is not what you think he is."

She watched his face carefully. Assassin he may be; spy he was not. His shadowed eyebrows flicked up once, and his mouth tightened. "What is he?"

"The very evil that you fight. A Templar."

This time, his scorn was obvious. "I've known Uberto for years."

"That is as may be," she nodded. "He will betray both you and Medici."

He was silent. "I do not know you."

"No," she agreed, moving over to the edge of the roof. "And now you have a choice. Trust your friend. Or trust a woman you do not know."

* * *

**Glossary **

Signorina — Miss

Maestro — Master

Signore — Mister

Merde — Shit

Catacombes, deux avant midi — Catacombs, two a.m.

Mademoiselle — Miss

Pardon — Excuse me/Sorry

En effet — Indeed

Pomme de terre — Potato

D'accord — Okay

Non — No

Oui — Yes

Prends garde — Take care

Malheureux — Unfortunate

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: No reviews for the last chapter, but I'll keep my bitching short. If you like the story, review please - it's not difficult. End of bitching. **

**Chapter Three**

**Paris, 1497**

Sylvie sighed.

It was the millionth time since she had left Orlèans she had uttered such a sound. Would she ever see her daughter again? If things went wrong here, then it could lead to her death as well as Ezio's. And then she would not only have made Marie an orphan, she would have made Leonardo her permanent guardian. It wasn't the responsibility she had asked him to shoulder.

The parting had been sad, but not as depressing as it could have been. Marie had been so excited about going anywhere beyond the borders of Orlèans, let alone France that she hadn't stopped to think that she wasn't going to see her mother for a long time — possibly ever again.

"Speak Spanish until you reach the border," Sylvie had warned them both. Young as she was, Marie had been schooled for a marriage abroad — multi-lingual had been an essential requirement, and Sylvie had no doubt Leonardo had been learning Spanish 'in his spare time'. The impossible man probably spoke Arabic too. The fact was, though, that neither French nor Italian could be trusted now. 'Da Vinci' was hardly a French name, and the servants would tell her husband enough so that his men would know what to hunt for. "And, Marie, once you enter Italy, you never speak French, do you understand?"

"Yes, _Maman_. _Madre_."

Sylvie had hugged Marie, and then Leonardo. "I'll take care of her," he'd promised.

"Just make sure you care for yourself as well," Sylvie had smiled.

No, she decided. She would not fail here. She would find Ezio, she would save him, she would take him safely back to Italy, and she would be reunited with her daughter. At what point she would tell Ezio she'd been keeping his child from him… Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary. They hadn't seen one another in years, and their parting could hardly have been more bitter. He was probably married to some dainty, doe-eyed girl in Montereggioni by now. And that was fine.

...perhaps not _fine_, but it certainly was not her primary concern. Her primary concern was making contact with someone who could help her locate Ezio. First and foremost was location, and then there was how he was being held, how many guards there were- The list went on.

She'd arrived in Paris late last night, but hadn't slept. Now she was edging along the streets, dawn hanging pale in the sky, and _still _wondering if the two of them would be alright. Shoving the fear aside, she continued toward her goal: the home of Claud Laroche. A baker now, she'd heard. Not the man who had so daringly infiltrated the Spanish court and spied for years, successfully passing on information that had avoided several conflicts between the two nations. As a reward, he had been allowed to walk away from espionage alive. Of course, no one ever really left this life. Their instincts only became blunted. Information was a trade second only to money in its influence.

The smell of freshly baking bread set her stomach rumbling as soon as it hit her nostrils. Mouth watering, she rounded the corner. It was still too early for customers, so the door to the _boulangerie_ was locked. The window a little way up the wall, however, was open. Sylvie climbed through it, dropping to her feet silently. She'd landed in a bedroom, the bed occupied by two small children, still sleeping soundly. Ignoring the pang for Marie, she moved downstairs to the bakery itself.

Claud had gained weight over the years, but she still knew it was him, by the limp he walked with. She had, after all, been the one to give him the limp.

With his back still too her, bent over the bread he was kneading, he spoke. "There are only two people I know who move that silently; and one of them is in Madrid. What do you want, Sylvie?"

She joined him, and was handed another ball of dough herself. "I'm calling in the favour you owe me."

"Which one?" he grunted.

"The one that let you keep your _couilles_ when your wife found out about your mistress."

He punched the dough. "You owed me for that already."

"Then I'm calling the time in Barcelona."

He frowned. "Didn't I pay you back with that spot of trouble in Blois?"

"No," she said firmly. "I could have handled those thugs alone even if you had not happened along when you did."

He tilted his head in an agreeing fashion. "Probably true. What do you need?"

She smiled. She'd liked that about Claud years ago, and she loved it now. There wee no superfluous questions. No asking about her position now (she had no doubt he knew), no asking why she had come to him first rather than her numerous other contacts.

"Information. There's a Templar group in France; I've no interest in them, but they're holding an Assassin captive. I owe him a favour." _Several favours…_

"An assassin, or an Assassin?" he asked.

"The latter," she told him. "I know it's risky. But it's important, Claud."

"You would not be here if it weren't," he commented. "But I've heard a few rumours."

"Where?" she asked sharply.

He looked at her appraisingly. "These are dangerous _enculés_, Sylvie. Are you sure you want-"

"I've fought them before," she interrupted. "Just tell me."

"They're overzealous lunatics," he said. "I suppose they saw some poetry in it; they're holding your man in the necropolis under Notre Dame. And he won't be easy to get to," he added sharply. "There are at least fifteen men at any one time guarding him — the shifts change at dusk and dawn, that gives you plenty of time to plan your rescue attempt. Beware — it will have to be from the outside; most of the monks and priests are Templars too."

"_Casse_!" she swore under her breath. "Never mind. I'll manage. What do you know about the entrances?"

"The sewers; there's the cathedral, of course, but unless you can find a good place to hide until everyone goes to bed…"

Sylvie was sure there were plenty of places to hide in the ceiling of the huge cathedral, but while she could climb the average building, she was in no doubt that her skills paled in comparison to that challenge. She had less than a fraction of Ezio's abilities. "Sewers it is."

Claud nodded. "There's nothing else I have for you. And I don't want to see you again, Sylvie. This is my debt paid."

"_D'accord_."

She threw the dough back at him, and then moved to the door. "Sylvie." She turned. "_Bon chance_."

She went to the cathedral, sat through morning mass and every service after that. There was nothing in the behaviour of the docents to indicate they were Templars, but after so many years hunting them in Italy she'd developed a sense about them. It was the gleam of contempt in the eye. Contempt for the God that everyone else loved, for the religion that bounded everyone else's lives. Sometimes she could almost swear they _smelt_, too.

In between services, she checked security by exploring as much of Notre Dame she could, seeing how far into the restricted areas she could enter without being stopped. It wasn't far. She would definitely have to use the sewer. It didn't help that when in the crypt, she could imagine she heard screaming from the world of the dead down below. However little information she had, she couldn't wait any longer. She could not leave him _trapped_ down there for one more day.

To that end, she sought out another of her contacts. The groups of thieves that roamed the Paris streets were not as organised as Italy's, but they were good enough for what she needed, and the leader of the group that worked Montmartre owed her the life of two of his sons. They were both in the service of their country now, but it was better than hung. When she arrived — clutching very tightly onto her purse — Pierre did not seem pleased to see her. In fact, 'furious' seemed hardly to cover it. She swallowed instinctively. _Never thought I'd miss Rosa…_

"Have you come to tell me another of my children is dead?" he demanded, eyes red, and his face ravaged with grief.

Sylvie frowned, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "_Je suis desolée_, my friend."

"Oh, everyone is _sorry_!" he spat. "What has sorry ever done to change the world?"

"How did he die?"

"He was murdered."

"Do you know how?"

"Yes. The new chief of the guard: Michel Benoit. He swans around _my_ city, killing my men and my family with no one to check him. He has friends in high places; places even you have no connections, Duchess of Orlèans."

"I'm here," she said firmly. "I'm not in Orlèans. And I need your help. If your price is your son avenged-"

"Sylvie, a talented woman you may be, but you are no Assassin. Besides, the one who tried last has vanished completely-"

"Ezio Auditore?" she interrupted sharply.

He looked up. "You know him?"

"I know him. I'm here to rescue him. He's being held in the Notre Dame necropolis," she explained, her heart beating faster with hope. "I can get to him, but only with your help. If he is unable to kill Benoit for you, then I will."

"Empty promises."

"No. And here. Take this, in good faith." She opened her purse, gave to him a package folded in gold-trimmed silk.

He opened it with a keen and experienced eye. It was a broach; one of a few pieces she'd brought from the chateau. Lubrication to ease her way into Paris, and to Ezio. It was covered with diamonds and pearls, dripping with gemstones. "If I fail," she continued, "then use this to bribe whoever you need to to get to Benoit."

He looked at it in the flickering firelight for an almost unbearably long time. Finally though, he nodded. "Agreed. What do you need?"

"I need you to invade Notre Dame cathedral."

* * *

**Glossary**

Madre — Mother

Boulangerie — Bakery

Couilles — Balls (the male kind)

Enculés — Bastards

Casse — Fuck

Bon chance — Good luck

Je suis desolée — I am sorry

* * *

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! **


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